


we can stay like this (for now)

by lavenderlow



Series: Stonathan Week 2018 [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Also fluff, Day 2: Love's Sweet Tune, Everyone Cries!, Jonathan Gets Emotional, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sorry about that!!, Steve gets emotional, Steve gets sent to a conversion camp, Steve just really loves his boyfriend, Stonathan Week 2018, it's angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 22:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlow/pseuds/lavenderlow
Summary: Steve Harrington never really thought he could relate to Jonathan in the way that he explained to him when they stayed up together. He always talked about how he felt like his emotions were at the boiling point- tipping over the line and expelling past his lips and into the open, which he never wanted to happen. He said he always felt worried, scared, paranoid, and Steve would have to sit back, hold him in his arms, and tell him it was okay. But now, it's all coming down on him when he feels like his own legs will fall from underneath him, or his heart is going to beat out of his chest. It's terrible.Or,Steve gets sent to a conversion camp in Montana.





	we can stay like this (for now)

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY STONATHAN WEEK!
> 
> Sadly, this is going to be like, the only story I publish. I do have something coming for the freewrite day, though, and it may tie in to another story of mine... or it may not. Be on the lookout ;)
> 
> The song that inspired this story was "Dreamcatcher" by McCafferty. Please listen to the song either while reading this, or before or after... but listen to it! 
> 
> Without further adeu, the actual thing you came here for.

Everything was happening, yet nothing was. 

Steve Harrington never really thought he could relate to Jonathan in the way that he explained to him when they stayed up together. He always talked about how he felt like his emotions were at the boiling point- tipping over the line and expelling past his lips and into the open, which he never wanted to happen. He said he always felt worried, scared,  _paranoid,_ and Steve would have to sit back, hold him in his arms, and tell him it was okay. That he had him.  

And now everything felt like it was happening so much more intensely. He felt worried. Scared. Paranoid. Uncomfortable, at the very least. It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest every time he took a breath- it would break out of his ribcage and through his skin like a horror movie. His mouth felt dry and no matter how many sips of the cold coffee he took that was left over from this morning and exams, he still felt bad. He felt wrong.  

Sitting in the parking lot of one of the only two gas stations in Hawkins, he stared at the payphone that stood under a streetlight next to the entrance- a spotlight. Steve’s skin crawled- he didn’t think that he would freak out this much, but now he is, and he doesn’t want to tell Jonathan the news too soon, so he couldn’t call him, and there was only one other option. Brushing himself off, he stepped out of his BMW and stood straight. The payphone locked with his gaze and beckoned him, but maybe that was just the cool, midnight in January breeze playing tricks on his mind. 

He picked up the phone and dialed a number that used to be muscle memory. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder, as he rested on the glass panes encasing the phone, breath shaking as he took a deep sigh when a voice answered the phone. 

“Hello?” A voice sounds, deeper than expected, and Steve realizes that her little brother, Mike, must have answered the phone. 

“Hey, Mike. It’s Steve. Harrington. Can you put your sister on the phone for me?” He said, stuttering and swallowing loudly, his usual bravado tone non-existent.  

Mike made a sound of agreeance and the line went silent for a minute. Thank god- he thought the twerp would go on and ask him why he’s acting like this, because if anyone besides Jonathan knew Steve that well, it would be the kids. Dustin, his original awkward best friend who was in his freshman year, introduced him to all his friends, which ended up being the band of six kids that he “babysat” a lot of the time. Babysat his ass- more like parented. 

“Steve?” A voice says, this time more comforting and softer, like the one he was originally expecting. “It’s midnight. Why are you calling? What number even is this?” 

“Nancy,” he almost  _whimpers,_ like a helpless puppy. “Thank god you answered.” 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” She asks, that caring voice ringing through his ears, like the one she used to use when they were together. That was over a year ago, now. 

“They’re sending me off tomorrow morning. This morning, at seven.” Steve hated saying it. He had only figured out earlier that his parents enrolled him for some _conversion camp_ in Montana behind his back. That he’d be leaving first thing that morning and be home for summer. What originally was a discussion at the dinner table turned into a screaming match between Steve and his father.  

Because according to his father, no king could be a faggot. Steve  _“King”_ Harrington hasn’t been king for a while now, then. 

“W- I-,” Nancy stuttered, sounding like she was breaking up over the line. Steve tensed at hearing her voice sound so pained- if this had happened a year ago, he would have cried at seeing her like that. Now, it was just a caring instinct that told him that he really  _was_ sorry. “What do you mean, send you away?” She chokes. Steve winces. 

“My parents. My  _Dad,_ they found out.” He stares at his shoes, the Sperry's he bought last weekend with Jonathan for his birthday. The more he stared down, the more it felt like an anvil was pressing at the nape of his neck, causing his legs to shake and almost give out from under him. “They’re sending me to-” he stopped himself,  feeling tears start to well up in his eyes, but he choked them back and took a deep breath. “To a conversion camp. Up in Montana.” 

Nancy must have understood, because she gasped and if Steve knew her well enough, her hand was probably clasped over her heart. “You- what-,” Nancy stirred again, then taking a deep breath. “What are you going to tell Jonathan?” 

It felt like a pleasurable stab to the heart to hear her say his name. After him and Nancy dated, then Nancy and Jonathan dated, it took so long for Nancy to come around when she saw the two boys holding hands in front of Jonathan’s beat up Ford after a football game. And now, here she is, worrying over Steve and his petty relationship problems. 

And in all, disgusting honesty, he didn’t know what he was going to tell him. He couldn’t lie- but if Jonathan knew that he was somewhat the reason that Steve was being sent away?  

Steve doesn’t want to think about what could happen. 

“That’s the thing, Nance.” He hasn’t called her that in a year. His heart was beating so loud he couldn't think, and now he was  _really_ convinced it was going to beat out of his chest. Everything felt  _bad,_ and he couldn’t think of a better word other than that. The walls were closing in on him, the spotlight above the payphone felt like it was shining directly on him and  _mocking_ him, now, of all times, where he felt most vulnerable. Tears welled up in the inner corners of his eyes, warm and stinging. They dropped onto his Sperry’s, tarnishing the leather. “I don’t know, Nance. I don’t know.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had been back on the road for five minutes before pulling into the driveway of the Byers’ house at the end of the street. The house was quiet, and no lights were on- what did he expect at close to one in the morning? He’d scold Will if he was up, and Jonathan too, if he wasn’t with him or coming home from a late shift.  

He rubbed away at his eyes- they were probably red and puffy, considering that the moment he hung the phone up on Nancy, he started crying. Harder than he has in a very, very long time, and Steve was never one to cry in the first place. Steve was an athlete, a jock- he wasn’t  _supposed to_  cry, he wasn’t supposed to show vulnerability. But, he wasn’t supposed to be with a man, either, so maybe he was exempt from the rules. 

Again, according to his Dad, it seemed like a pretty big rule to break. 

Steve shook his head and took his hands off the steering wheel, opting for rather turning off the car and taking a deep breath as he pressed himself flush against the car seat.  

 

* * *

_The night air was cool around them, holding them as they sat in the Byers’ driveway._ _The drive from the quarry had been filled with silent laughter as Steve tried out all of his stupid pickup lines on the other boy. It was now_ _quiet in Steve’s car- the sounds of the crickets around them seeming like it was filling the car over the quiet sounds of Jonathan cracking his knuckles. Steve kept his hands on the steering wheel, not daring to look over to Jonathan where he sat in the passenger seat. Usually he was good at this kind of stuff, but tonight obviously was different._  

_With girls, it always came so easy- to be able to slip a smirk on and sweet talk to death, until the blush on their cheeks was hot enough to light a fire. Nancy once told him that his voice sounded like syrup, flowing out of his mouth sweet and slow, serenading._  

_But with Jonathan, it was so, so different._  

_He couldn’t look at him in fear that he’d see the blush that lit his own cheeks on fire. He didn’t want to speak because he knew he’d be a stuttering mess, and the words that used to come so easily were choked behind his tongue, unable to come out even if they wanted to. His leg bounced after he took it off the pedal and placed the car in park, turning the headlights off._  

_Was this how it was supposed to be? Was he supposed to feel terrified in case he messed up? He always thought girls were so easy because he was just good at talking to them, buttering them up and making them pliant under his hands. But now, he knows that the skill he thought he had does not apply to all._  

_“I had a lot of fun tonight.” Steve said, breaking the silence. Jonathan’s eyes shot up from looking at the ground, shock on his face. Steve watched him wring his hands in his lap, trying to crack his knuckles even though he had cracked them earlier._  

_“I did too.” The younger said, locking eyes with him. Steve’s heart fluttered._  

_“Would you maybe want to-”_  

_“Yeah.”_  

_Steve looked at Jonathan with wide eyes- the fire on his face was surely noticeable, but Jonathan’s was too._  

_“A date?” Steve whispered, making sure that Jonathan really knew what he was asking. Maybe it was this easy, and Steve was just working himself up for nothing._  

_“Yeah. A date. I’d love to.” Jonathan smiled, his hands in his lap stilling and resting on his thighs. Steve couldn’t help the beam that spread across his face- and it seemed to have the same effect on Jonathan, too, considering he snickered quietly and covered his smile with a hand._  

_Steve thought this as the opportunity he was waiting for. He took a deep breath and gulped, preparing himself for something he usually would never have to prepare himself for. “Hey,” he cautioned, dragging his gaze up slow and sweet like he did with girls to Jonathan’s eyes. “Don’t cover your smile. It’s nice.”_  

_From that night on, Steve knew that he had something for Jonathan Byers._   

 

* * *

 

 

Steve turned the corner to the backyard, hopping over the chain fence and slightly tripping, his body shaking in waves that made it hard for him to stand up straight. He was under no influence other than anxiety and adrenaline, plus caffeine. That isn’t good news for someone like Steve- who is already very active and probably has ADHD.  

With quiet steps, he settled in front of the patch of dead grass that was in front of Jonathan’s window. The blinds were closed, and the lights were off- hopefully Jonathan wasn’t asleep. If he was, Steve was going to have to find another way to wake him up no matter what. He just hoped that the former would work so he wouldn’t have to formally break into their house. Not like he hasn’t before, though. He crouched down, eye level with the window. 

_Tap. Tap. Tap._  

Steve’s knuckles laid on the window pane as he heard shuffling come from the room behind it. Thank god. He took a deep breath, retracting his finger from its place on the cold glass, rather stuffing it and the rest of his hand into his pockets. He stood up, yet kept his head staring down at the window, waiting for the soft  _click_ to tell him that Jonathan was awake. 

There was more shuffling, Steve thought. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him- he was in such a state of anxiety and paranoia that noises could be coming from anywhere- so maybe it was just the crickets that were so prevalent in rural Indiana. Maybe it was the sound of Steve’s foot tapping on the soft grass under him. 

_Click._  

“Jonathan.” Steve whispered, meeting the eyes of the younger boy as he stuck his messy head out of the window, dreary eyes hooded but alert.  

“Steve. What are you doing?” Jonathan asked, his voice raspy and coated in fatigue. Steve swallowed and dug his hands deeper into his pockets, straining his knuckles as they pushed against the fabric of his hoodie.  

Steve looked from one side of the yard to the other, surveying and making sure that no one else was awake. “Do you have clothes on?” He asks in response. 

“Is there a problem?” Jonathan smiled, crossing his arms on the window sill and snickering a little bit. Steve looked down to him and felt the softest smile creep onto his face- no matter what Jonathan did, he always found a way to melt Steve’s heart, even in the cold January air. 

“I wanna take you to the quarry. Like the first night, yeah?” Steve’s smirk turned playful, taking a hand out of his pocket and crouching down to meet with one of Jonathan’s.  

Jonathan hummed and nodded, planting a kiss to the hand that fell on his own, and then turned his back. Steve couldn’t help but giggle when Jonathan stood up and he saw that he stood in only boxers- bare legs exposed and back defined in the low light of the lamp that sat on his dresser. 

“Looking good, Byers.” He clicked with his tongue, sticking his head inside of the window. “Feet planted.” 

“You’re talking to me like Billy used to talk to you.” Jonathan scoffed, pulling on a thick sweater, shaking his head in endearment. “Except I actually got in your pants.” 

Steve tried his hardest not to laugh so loud he’d wake up the house. He covered his mouth with his hand, having to face away from the window to stop himself. “That is true,” he said once he regained his composure, “Very glad it was you rather than him.” 

“If it was him, you’d be coming to school every week with bruises. I don’t trust that guy in bed.” Jonathan continued, now shuffling on a pair of sweatpants, trying not to laugh himself. 

“Can we stop bringing up the topic of me and Billy Hargrove in bed?” Steve said through his giggles, now finally stepping fully into the room instead of sticking his head in. He sat on the bed, the same bed where so many important nights had happened- and for a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he should just do it here. Tell him and leave. Give him a kiss on the cheek and walk out the same way he came in, to go home and pack his bags. 

And that thought sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to think of the things Jonathan could do if left to his own devices with that kind of information- which is why he planned to go to the quarry. 

‘Yes, we can, if we talk about when the next time  _we’re_ gonna get in bed is.” Jonathan broke Steve out of his trance with the cute giggle he added at the end. 

If it was any other day, Steve would have laughed too. Offered it right now, or at least  _very_ near in the future. But right now was not the right time, and he wasn’t sure if there would be a right time for a very long time. 

Maybe Jonathan realized something was off when Steve  _didn’t_ offer.  His smirk faded and he shuffled his shoes on quickly, walking towards the window and extending his hand in an attempt to get them going. Steve nodded and stepped up from the bed, walking out of the bedroom with Jonathan following close behind him. 

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride was just like any other car ride they’ve ever had. Steve joking, Jonathan snapping back with snarky comments, their hands interlocked over the center console with Steve’s thumb rubbing small circles onto the back on Jonathan’s hand. Steve was able to forget the discomfort he had felt the rest of the past two hours or so- and he felt back to his normal self. Confident. Strong. Normal, he guessed. 

Steve pulled into the worn-out path that lead into the quarry. It was pitch black, save for the headlights on his BMW, which shone all the way over the lake and to the other side of the quarry, where the rock was dug down. It was quieter than the rest of the town, with the ambient sound of crickets being almost nonexistent, rather only slightly rivaled by the sound of frogs and toads by the lake, fifty feet below them. 

Steve was the first one to step out of the car, walking to the hood and leaning himself against it. Jonathan trailed him, leaning on the hood on his right. They stood there for a moment, not speaking or listening, either. 

“The sky looks pretty tonight.” Jonathan said, his head tilted up. Steve turned his gaze to him, nodding silently and wondering what he could say next. 

The feeling of claustrophobia was coming back, like it was in the phone booth. Except, this time, instead of glass that could cut his skin and pierce him, it was the weight of the night sky that pressured him into the gravel of the quarry, and the heat from Jonathan’s body that seemed to infect Steve’s skin and make him feel sick to his stomach, because he knew what he had to do. 

Maybe he could ignore it for a while. 

“You look prettier, of course.” He says, blocking anything from his mind that wasn’t here. Now. 

“You’re a modern-day Casanova, Harrington.” 

“Have been for what, nine months now?” He jokes, hands finding their pockets again.  

“Almost ten, next week.” Jonathan laughs.  

Steve shudders.  

“Come here, Byers.” Steve says, outstretching his arms in front of him, shaking away the thoughts of what would soon be reality.  _Soon_ did not mean now, though. 

Jonathan stepped over once to fall into Steve’s arms, nestling his head into the crook of his neck and wrapping his arms around his waist. Steve laughed, bringing one of his hands up to the nape of Jonathan’s neck, playing with the hair that was there. His other hand wrapped around Jonathan’s waist, rubbing circles into his back. They eventually became quiet, taking deep breaths of each other’s cologne and holding onto each other, savoring the moment. The sky could  _never_  compare to Jonathan Byers’ ethereal beauty.  

And they stayed like that, until Steve knew that they couldn’t. 

The first thing he noticed was how his heart started to beat heavily again- not fast, but hard and mean. Like it would burst. Like it would pop out of his ribcage, like a horror movie. That’s how it continues to feel.  

His legs feel like they’ve gone out from under him, but the hood of the car keeps him upright. His breathing becomes shallow, but hopefully not enough that Jonathan notices. 

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked, causing Steve to curse at himself in his head.  

“I have something to tell you.” It slips out past his lips- he didn’t want to say it like  _that._ But he can’t go back now. Jonathan backs out of their embrace, and that’s when he knows he’s crossed the point of no return. 

Jonathan sits in silence for a moment. Steve doesn’t know if he should say something, if he should say  _it,_ because he doesn’t want something to be said accidentally again. But something had to come out. He had to say it. No matter whether it comes out accidentally or not, it would be said by the end of the night, and something was going to happen because of it. 

“I’m getting sent away tomorrow. A conversion camp, up in Montana.” Steve said. His eyes ducked to his feet again, hands pressing against the hood and holding him upright, even though they were shaking and trembling. His toes clenched through his shoes and dug the tips into the gravel- going numb up through his legs and to his chest. 

“You’re funny.” Jonathan says, hands in his pockets. “Really funny, babe.”  

“I’m not kidding.” The older deadpans, continuing to look at his feet. 

The air around them is still and stagnant. It stays like that, too- tense and stuffy, even though they’re outside. It makes Steve’s skin crawl and his saliva pool in his mouth like he’s about to puke- but not right now. Any time but right now. 

“Look up.” Jonathan whispers, and Steve’s heart breaks when he hears the crack in his voice. “Look me in the eyes if you aren’t lying.”  

Steve can hardly find the willpower to lift his head up, but he does. He does it slow and agonizingly so- not intentionally, but just because he doesn’t even want to accept the fact himself. He’s saying goodbye. Goodbye, my lover and the ten months we’ve spent together. 

Their eyes lock, and that’s when Jonathan starts to sob. Steve physically feels his heart separate and fall to his stomach in a million different pieces and then back up into his throat and he’s going to throw up if he doesn’t just tell Jonathan  _it’s okay please stop crying, I love you-_ but he can’t because his mouth is dry no matter what.  

Steve, instead, steps closer and holds Jonathan in his arms until he stops. He shakes and shakes, sobbing into his shoulder for what feels like painstaking hours, but is only twenty minutes. His hand rubs circles into his back, holding him tighter and tighter until it feels like he’s going to crush him, but Jonathan doesn’t ask him to stop. 

“Y-you, you can’t l-l-leave,” Jonathan chokes, face pressed into Steve’s chest now. “N-not now.  _Please,_ not now.” Steve knows he’s talking about how Will has been in the hospital for the past week because he’s been having seizures, and no one knows why. He knows that this is the worst timing possible for the both of them. He knows there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Steve clears his throat. “Baby,” He says, when he finally regains the strength to talk, even though his voice is raspy and coarse. “I have to go. They’re making me.” 

“H-how- how did they find out?” 

Steve doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. It sounds so  _stupid,_ the way he slipped up so easily- it's  _embarrassing._ But he can’t lie now. Not here, not now. “I started, uh-” he stutters, holding Jonathan and swaying him. “I started writing you a love letter. For our ten month anniversary, you know. And my parents were washing my jeans and they found it. In my back pocket.” 

Jonathan stays silent. Steve knows it’s because it sounds dumb. He can’t believe it happened like that, either. 

“How long will you be gone?” Jonathan asks, starting to calm down. They continue to sway there. 

“Until summer. Or they think I’m un-gay.” Steve says, a slight chuckle behind his words. He feels the slight jump to Jonathan’s chest, too, which sends a smile to his face. 

“You can’t make me laugh right now-” Jonathan then was cut off by Steve’s arms reaching under his, tickling his sides and causing Jonathan to start laughing quietly in the presence of just the two of them. “Stop!” He laughs, pressing his face into Steve’s chest and trying to grab his hands. “Steve!” 

Steve laughs and then stops tickling him to instead bring his hands to Jonathan’s face, staring into his eyes and Jonathan staring back into his. “The sky will  _never_ compare to you, Jon.” He says, assuredly and quietly, laying a small peck to his forehead. 

Jonathan is the one to stare down, now, averting Steve’s gaze. “We could run away, you know,” he whispers, digging his shoe into the gravel. 

“Jon, you know why we can’t do that-” 

“No, no, just think, we go to your house now and get clothes-” 

“Jon, Jon,  _please,”_ Steve shushes him, one hand on his shoulder and the other under his chin, lifting his face and eyes back up to meet his. “You have your mother, and  _Will,_ and your job, and college applications-” 

“But-” 

“No, no buts, Jon. You have to stay, and I have to go. It’ll be okay, okay?” He assures, another peck on Jonathan’s forehead paired with his other hand wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him close. “I’ll write you, every night if they let me. We are gonna stay like this, and no un-gay camp can tell me we can’t.”  

Jonathan laughs on his own this time, holding Steve close. “Un-gay camp.” He chuckles, yawning a little bit after he fluttered his eyes and buried his head back into the crook of Steve’s neck.  

“That’s what makes you laugh?”  

And Jonathan stays silent, but he nods. Steve understands. If it was too much for him, he could only imagine what Jonathan was feeling.  

And so, they stayed there, in the quiet by the quarry, eventually moving into the backseat of Steve’s BMW to lay there and sleep until sunrise. 

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, Jonathan got a knock on his door with a quiet call of his name. For two weeks, Jonathan has been lying in bed, mostly, during all the time he’s been home from school- because after Steve left, he has no other reason to get up. He usually wouldn’t even come when he was called, but the way his mother called his name from outside his door triggered something in him to make him think that something was  _different_ this time around. 

He walks sluggishly to the door, dragging his feet along his carpet. He opens the door, greeted by his worked-out mother who was still in her scrubs.  

She holds something out for him, whispering, “I think this is for you.”  

It’s a letter with Joyce’s name on the front, no doubt, from Montana. Why would it be for him? He takes it anyway, retreating to his room and laying on the bed to examine the letter. 

When he pulls it out, it says  _Dear Jonathan,_ and he swears he feels his heart stop in his chest. 

He can’t skim over it, like he usually does. It’s written in Steve’s messy, but slightly legible handwriting, and there are a few spots in the paper where he sees there were tears. It makes him tear up a little, too. 

 

_Dear Jonathan,_ it says. 

_I miss you so much more than I can write on paper. I’m not the next Shakespeare, even though you are, Jon, (no matter how much you say you’re the next Vonnegut. I believe in you either way, baby.)  and I can only express myself so much without sounding like I’m trying too hard._  

_I know I missed our ten months. I’m writing this the day before, and I know it won’t get there by tomorrow, because they have to examine this letter and make sure it’s no love letter, but since I put your mom on the card, they shouldn’t care. I hope they don’t, at least, because I know you know me. If they send it back to me, no one would be leaving here alive. Because I couldn’t tell you enough in person how much I love you. I love you so much, Jon, and you have no idea how deep of a place that comes from in my heart. That’s the saying, right?_  

_This camp is hell. We’re given cafeteria grade food, the place is run down, like the old_ _Tuskaloosa_ _summer camp in Illinois we both went to. Except it’s worse and smells like middle aged men’s body odor. There’s at least twenty of us here, some with boyfriends, some not- I've told them all about you. I’m sure they’ve all gotten sick of me saying, “Jonathan this,” and “Jonathan that,” but I can’t stop. You’re always on my mind. Always. Your hair and the way it always kind of smells like sunscreen, and the hoodie you gave me the night after Nancy’s volleyball game that smelled like your cologne and rain, and your laugh- God. I miss you so, so much._  

_The pastors here- they're dumb, conservative christians from the bible belt being paid minimum wage, if less. I should be out of here in no time. I mean, I’m not fully gay, anyway. I only have to half fake it. But, that does not mean I’d ever leave you for a girl. Sorry, any sex we’ve had has been so much better than any I’ve had with a girl. Hopefully, the big guys don’t open this letter and examine it. I don’t want them to hear me talking about our god-defying sex life._  

_Call me at the payphone here, but it would have to be discreet. I just want to hear your voice._  

_I love you so, so, so much._  

_XOXO,_  

_Steve Harrington._  

**Author's Note:**

> be sure to check out my tumblr where i post other stranger things stuff and other stories!  
> @heartofharrington


End file.
